How I came to be...

As my first birthday is quickly approaching, I figured I should share the story of how I came to be before we all forget.  

It all started because the Chicago Blackhawks won the Stanley Cup.  My dad loves all things Chicago sports, minus the Sox, and so there was no debate over whether my parents were going to brave the crowds to watch the Stanley Cup make its’ way down Michigan Ave.  The morning of the parade, June 18^th, 2010, was the earliest and fasted my father has EVER gotten out of bed.  He had the jugs of margaritas mixed and in the backpack and was proudly sporting a Hawks jersey before my mom was done brushing her teeth.  Usually when my dad is rushing (if he is even concerned enough to rush) it’s because he is running late, which is a relatively common occurrence as time and management aren’t his forte particularly when paired together…I digress.  This particular morning remains the only morning he was rushing NOT because he was late, but because he was on a mission.  A mission to see the Cup. 

My parents stepped off the “L” downtown and were greeted by thousands of other parade-goers.  After working their way through the crowds, counting the mullets and picking out those who were clearly from the burbs, they found a great spot at the corner of Michigan Ave. and Ohio.  The parade wouldn’t be starting for a couple hours so the celebration commenced.  It was a great time, so my parents say. 

A couple months later as my parents sat in the doctor’s office and were told the date of conception, they scratched their heads and thought a moment and then in unison said, “Ohhhh…”  Needless to say, I was not planned.

I guess they could have named my Stanley after the Stanley Cup (or my Papa who also happens to be Stanley…Stansfield…Jr).  

                                                    My parents at a Hawks game, pre-baby.